


It's Still Rock and Roll to Me

by blakefancier



Category: Captain America (2011)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Rock star, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-21
Updated: 2012-07-21
Packaged: 2017-11-10 09:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/464862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blakefancier/pseuds/blakefancier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Howard is a rock star and Steve is his possible protege. Steve has other ideas. Sexy ideas. And Howard finds himself going along with them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Still Rock and Roll to Me

**Author's Note:**

> I don't even fucking know, guys.I've been merry-go-rounding again, writing a bit of this story, then that story, the another story. Then this popped into my head again. Maybe now I can actually work on Blot or For Your Entertainment. 
> 
> Dirty Girl is my very uninspired, very horrible idea. Really, it's so horrible that my brain rebels every time i think about it. I Will Survive is an awesome song, though. As is Brilliant Disguise-- Even if Steve does feel like a traitor for singing The Boss.
> 
> Also, I have nothing against Steven Tyler. Even if Howard does.

Obadiah took Howard to a karaoke bar the way he always did when they got together. He smiled and joked that it was nice to listen to people who had even less talent than Howard. 

Howard rolled his eyes and went along because sometimes it was nice to see people enjoy music, even if they sang for shit. Sometimes the fucking music industry took the fun out of music.

They sat in a booth in a corner, because Howard didn't want to have to deal with fans. He loved them, he did, but when he was out with Obi, he just wanted to decompress. Obi ordered a whiskey and Howard got his usual sparkling water. Sobriety was a bitch, he missed the fuzzy edges, but it was better than being dead. Mostly. 

"So are you gonna take the gig with America's Got Talent?" Obi asked, sipping his drink while some giggling coeds belted out _I Will Survive._

"It's American Idol and fuck no! You know how I feel about Tyler."

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Howard, really? You're pissed because he got to Maria first?"

"What?" Howard gave Obi an indignant look. "Is that what the asshole is telling people?"

Obi rolled his eyes. "No, it's not—When would I talk to Steven Tyler, Howard?"

"How should I know?" Howard took a swig of his water. "And no, it's not. I don’t like that fucker because he once told Rolling Stone he thought I couldn't sing my way out of a paper bag." 

Obi rubbed his forehead, looking pained. "Your life is… It...."

"Yeah," Howard said, smiling, "it's pretty awesome. Admit it, you love being my friend. I get you into all the cool parties."

"It was great when we were kids, Howard. Now that we're in our forties…" Obi trailed off.

"It's even better?" He gently nudged Obi's leg with his foot. "Admit it, you love having all those pretty girls vying for your attention."

"Vying for my wallet, you mean." Obi runs his hand over his head.

"Hey, you're the face of Stark Industries for another year. You might as well milk it for all it's worth before Tony takes over the spotlight." 

"He'd rather be in the lab than the board room. It would be better if you—"

Howard waved away Obi's words. "That ship sailed twenty years ago."

Obi opened his mouth to respond, but Howard was only half-listening as the familiar strains of _Brilliant Disguise_ started up. And then he wasn't even half-listening to Obi because the kid on stage, a lumbering blond whose face was red with embarrassment, was singing and holy shit. The kid's voice was gritty and raw in a way that made Howard's chest ache and his pulse race. There was talent there, Howard could feel it in his bones, and it transformed the kid into something beautiful in a rough sort of way. 

His mouth went dry and he took a drink of water. Then he got up, ignoring Obi's startled enquiries, and walked up to the stage. He felt like he was having a goddamn out of body experience and he wondered if maybe the bartender had roofied him. 

Didn’t matter. Nothing mattered but this kid who was singing like his heart was broken. Jesus, Howard had never felt this way before.

The song ended and he almost called for the kid to sing another one, but it was too late. The kid stepped off the stage and Howard moved forward, grabbing the kid's arm.

"Hey," he said, and the kid turned. "That was great. That was *really* great."

The kid's eyes widened and he blushed bright red. "You… You're H. Stark!"

Howard blinked a moment, disconcerted before his brain reengaged. Oh, right, rock star. He smiled. "I just go by Howard these days. Felt the initial was a little pretentious." 

"Oh, um, right. I… I'm Steve." The kid, Steve, swallowed hard.

"And he's a really big fan." A brunet about Steve's age came up to them and leaned against Steve's shoulder. "I'm Bucky, Bucky Barnes. And *he*--" Bucky pointed a thumb at Steve. "He has all your records." Steve looked scandalized, but Bucky just smiled lazily. "Can he buy you a drink?"

"Bucky!" Steve elbowed Bucky in the ribs. "What he meant was, can we buy you some sparkling water or iced tea? They serve really good virgin drinks here too." 

"I'm fine. But I… I have a drink at my table." He gestured towards Obi.

"Oh. Is that your friend glaring at us?"

Howard glanced over; yup, he was glaring all right. "Yeah, that's Obi. Hey, it's getting loud in here. You wanna… You wanna go outside?"

Steve turned a bright red and Bucky whispered something into his ear that made him go almost purple. He shoved Bucky away. "Yeah, that'd be great."

"Cool, I'll meet you out back in a few minutes." When Steve nodded his assent, Howard hurried over to his table. "Gotta go, Obi. We can do this another night, yeah?"

"You're ditching me for a guy? When did you start batting for the other team?" 

"What—It's not like that, okay! This kid's got talent. Real talent and I think Peggy could really take him places." Howard pulled out his wallet and dropped a few bills on the table. "I'll call you tomorrow."

"Right." Obi raised an eyebrow and took another drink of his whiskey. "You do that." 

Howard rolled his eyes and hurried out the door towards the parking lot. He scanned the area until he saw Steve, leaning up against a motorcycle. He was more of a car guy, but even he could tell the bike was beautiful.

"Hey," Steve said, smiling nervously. "So what did you want to talk about?"

He stuck his hands in his pockets, suddenly feeling unsure. "Where's your friend?"

"Still inside flirting with a couple of girls." Steve shrugged. 

"Oh." He swallowed hard. "You're a great singer. I mean, really great. I'd like you to meet my agent."

Steve blinked at him. "O-Okay. Is that all you wanted to talk about?" For some reason Steve sounded disappointed.

"Yes," he said slowly. "What other reason would I have?"

Steve got this determined look on his face. Then Steve squared his shoulders and yanked Howard into a kiss.

Howard gasped in surprise because, holy shit, Steve could kiss. The kid's tongue was doing fucking loop-de-loops in Howard's mouth. And Howard knew he should do something but his brain felt like it had short-circuited. 

Steve finally backed away a few minutes later with a wet sound that went straight to Howard's dick, He stared at Steve, his mouth feeling swollen and bruised, his brain trying to stutter back life.

"Can we go to your place?" Steve asked.

And Howard should have said, no. He should have said, I'm not gay. He should have said, what the fuck was that? But what he actually said was, "I'm staying at my kid's house."

"But it's big, right? I mean, I saw the episode about it on MTV Cribs. It's *huge*." Steve ran a hand down Howard's chest, stopping at the waistband of his jeans.

Howard's dick throbbed and he let out a little gasp. "Are we taking your bike because I came with Obi?"

"Sure." Steve hooked his fingers in the waistband of Howard's jeans and smiled.

"Christ, I'm not gay." He was about to say more, but Steve licked his lips and… "Okay, maybe I'm a little gay. Maybe I…" He whimpered when Steve kissed him again, hot and languid, like they had all the time in the world.

"I'm going to make you come on my dick," Steve said softly.

Howard groaned and rocked his hips against Steve's. "Then what are we fucking waiting for?" he asked hoarsely.

"Nothing." Steve pulled away, then handed Howard his helmet. "Do you have lube and condoms or do I need to stop off somewhere?"

"We're good." He quickly put on the helmet, his heart pounding and his mouth dry. God, he was forty-one. He wondered if this qualified as a mid-life or a sexual identity crisis.

*****

Howard felt like a teenager again, sneaking into the house, stealing kisses from each other as they crept down the dark corridor toward the bedroom. This was insane, he didn't go for guys, he just—well, crushes didn't count, did they? Or fantasies or… or the half-drunken make-out with his former bandmates on stage. 

Okay, definitely a sexual identity crisis. Except… except not. Because, honestly, Steve was hot and Steve, Jesus wept, Steve was hiding a fucking crowbar in his jeans and that made Howard want to kneel on the floor and see how much he could get down his throat before he choked. 

"God," he moaned, pulling Steve in for a kiss. "I think I want your dick in my mouth." 

Steve chuckled softly and kneaded Howard through his jeans. "Bedroom first, then I'll let you have a little taste."

Shit, shit, shit! He grabbed Steve by the shirt and hauled Steve the rest of the way to the bedroom. Then he dropped to his knees on the thankfully plush carpet—he wasn't a fucking kid anymore, all that jumping off of stages did a number on his joints—and mouthed Steve's dick through his jeans. 

Steve grabbed Howard by the hair and gently humped his face. "Howard. God, Howard, I want your mouth, I do. I wanna fuck it until you choke, I wanna fuck It until your throat is raw and my come is dripping down your chin. But I really, *really* want to fuck you first. You ever done that before?"

Howard closed his eyes and pressed his open mouth against Steve's crotch. He forced himself to breathe, slow and even, so he wouldn't come in his pants like some fifteen year old. "N-No," he said, the word muffled.

Steve tugged his head until he sat back on his heels and looked up. "Do you want me to fuck you?"

Did he? After a moment, he nodded.

"You sure?" Steve bit his bottom lip and frowned. 

"Steve, I've done some pretty freaky shit with people, even before I got into music. This… This is not freaky shit. This is pretty fucking normal." Howard rose to his feet and pulled off his t-shirt. "So are you gonna screw me or what?"

Steve smiled and, goddammit, he was gonna have teenage girls all over America creaming in their panties once they got his music career going.

*****

Howard cursed and arched up as Steve pounded his ass. "I fucking love dick." 

"Yeah." Steve panted harshly and worked himself into Howard frantically. "Yeah you do. God, you're tight. You're so…" 

"Uh! Undiscovered country, babe." Gah! He wanted to touch his dick, he was so fucking close, his dick was drooling on his stomach, and he knew if he could only touch himself, he could come. But Steve held his hands against the mattress. "I don't… I don't think I can do it! I don't… Ngh! Steve!"

"Yeah, you can. You can, Howard. Come on, come on, you love this. You love my dick in your ass. Gets you so fucking hot. You're gonna be so sore tomorrow. Every time you move, you're gonna remember all the things I did to you. You're gonna remember how you reacted, like a little cock-slut. So eager for me, Howard." 

Howard whined low in his throat and squeezed his eyes closed because, Steve was right. God, he was such a slut for Steve's dick. As much as he wanted to come, he also didn’t want it to stop. 

"You're just a slut, aren't you? My little whore!" Steve released one of Howard's hands to reach down and twist a nipple. 

Holy fucking shit! Howard's body convulsed as an orgasm slammed through his body. He rode the waves of pleasure as best he could, his brain shorting out. When he came to, because, damn, he'd blacked out, Steve was gently wiping him down with a damp washcloth. He hummed softly and Steve gave him a startled look, then laughed.

"Are you humming _Dirty Girl_?" 

Howard hummed a few more bars. "What?" And God, his voice sounded wrecked. "I hum when I'm happy. "

"Okay." Steve smiled at him and settled next to him on the bed. "So am I the dirty girl or are you?"

"Me, obviously. I was the one who just got reamed, after all. Then he softly crooned the chorus. "Dirty girl doesn't like to be alone. She's just a dirty girl, she likes to make you moan. She's just a dirty girl. Oh, oh, oh." Critics had called it porn-pop and appalling, but Howard didn't care. It was his first number one hit and he would always love it. Even if it was terrible. 

"My mother hated it when I played that song." Steve gently kissed Howard's jaw.

"That's okay. My mom did, too." He sighed, content and sleepy.

Steve chuckled softly. "So, I don’t know the rules here."

"Rules?" Howard squinted at him.

"Do I leave or… Or what?"

"If you leave, you won't be able to show me how to give a blowjob." His face heated slightly, but hell, he'd already been fucked. Might as well go all out.

"You sure? I don't… I mean, it's okay if you're freaking out." Steve leaned up on his elbows and looked over at Howard.

Howard grunted and closed his eyes. "I'll freak out when I'm dead. So, stay. We'll have breakfast tomorrow, you'll teach me how to give blowjobs, and maybe after we'll go for ice cream."

"Okay," Steve said softly, curling up against Howard.

He pressed a kiss to the nearest bit of Steve, which was an ear. God, he was going to be so sore tomorrow; for some reason, that made him smile.


End file.
